


Promises Made

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Series: Taking What Comes [4]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Jack is not a good person, M/M, Manipulative Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Rhys never really got a good Alphas and Omegas talk, so he doesn't really understand what's happening to him.





	

Rhys wakes up from a dream he doesn’t remember, with something burning through his skin that he doesn’t understand.

He feels warm, like he’s got a fever - but he’s not sick, he knows intimately what that feels like, and this isn’t that. He shifts in bed, trying to get comfortable, and gasps when he feels the dampness between his cheeks. When he gingerly reaches behind himself and touches the seat of his sleep pants, he can feel the - the  _ slick _ , he supposes is what is it, seeping through.

He’s not sure what to do about this - he’s not ready for this, he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready for this - but he feels like he needs to do  _ something _ , so he gets up out of bed with the vague idea of fetching a glass of water, something to cool him down. When he steps into the hall, though, he can see light spilling out from the door to Jack’s study, and that suddenly seems like a much  _ better _ idea - Rhys is still feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, but Jack will know what to do. Jack always knows what to do.

Jack is at his desk, perusing handwritten reports and sheafs of accounting figures, but he looks up when Rhys halts in the doorway, suddenly unsure of himself. Jack looks him up and down and raises an eyebrow.

“Something wrong, pumpkin?”

Rhys doesn’t know how to answer that at  _ all _ . He’s suddenly horribly aware of the dampness on the back of his pants, the little dribble of slick leaking down his thigh, the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. He also realizes that he can smell Jack better than ever, even from across the room, and he tips his nose up slightly to try to capture more of that scent, let it settle in his lungs and ease the anxiety mounting in his stomach.

Jack smiles like he knows something Rhys doesn’t, and pushes back from the desk. He gestures Rhys over, and Rhys goes, stumbling awkwardly into the room, because Rhys doesn’t know how to say no to Jack, has never  _ wanted _ to say no to Jack. Jack turns his chair sideways, facing Rhys as he comes to a stop, and steeples his fingers together, waiting. He looks infinitely patient, like he could wait all night.

“I’m sorry, I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-” Rhys stumbles over the words, but Jack shushes him.

“Aw, Rhysie, honey, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Jack croons, his warm and steady voice a lifeline in an ocean of unknowns. “You’re just coming into your own, that’s all.” Jack breathes in deeply, and Rhys realizes that Jack is  _ breathing in his scent  _ \- and liking it, from the smile that curves his lips and the way his eyes darken.

“You smell really good, sweetheart.” Rhys’ mouth goes dry at the way Jack’s voice deepens, and he makes a little desperate sound when Jack leans forward and breathes in again, eyes hooded and lips turning up. Rhys  _ wants _ , but he doesn’t know what it is that he wants, only that Jack seems like the answer to everything if only he knew how to ask for it.

“Shhh, shhhhh, come here,” Jack opens his arms and Rhys stumbles into them gratefully, letting Jack pull him into his lap where Rhys has sat hundreds of times before. Only this is all different; he’s sitting over Jack’s legs, facing him, with one of Jack’s hands high on his back and the other bracing his waist. Everywhere Jack touches feels like it’s on fire, and Rhys whimpers, pressing close and burying his face in Jack’s neck, trying to get more of that comforting scent.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Jack murmurs, voice rumbling against Rhys’ chest. “Just let me take care of you.” Jack rubs a hand in circles high on Rhys’ back, and as Rhys relaxes he slips his other hand down until his fingers dip just below the waistband of Rhys’ sleep pants. Rhys tenses and Jack presses his lips to the side of Rhys’ head. Rhys shudders.

“Shhhhh,” Jack says again, slipping his hand down the back of Rhys’ pants. “This is going to feel good, I promise.”

Rhys’ breath comes faster as Jack’s fingers skate around his entrance, spreading the slick around. This is - this is so far outside his experience that he doesn’t know if he wants it or not, but his body seems to know what it wants, skin tingling and warming underneath Jack’s fingers. Rhys would never be stupid enough to turn down Jack’s hands on him, and Jack’s right - this  _ does _ feel good, or it’s starting to, that strange unsettled feeling calming with each lungful of Jack’s scent. When Jack presses a finger in - gently, so gently Rhys thinks he might cry from it - Rhys can’t stop the moan that slips out of him. He thinks he feels Jack grin against his hair, but his attention is focused on Jack’s finger delving into him, a strange and foreign pressure that feels so _ good _ Rhys wonders how he ever lived without it.

It’s nothing like his own fingers - Rhys had tried, tentatively, just to see what it was like, but trying to do it himself had put strain on his arm, and it had mostly just felt strange.  _ This _ , though - Jack’s fingers are big and confident and this is  _ Jack _ , whom Rhys has been dreaming about since he was old enough to know what heats were. Jack’s finger curls inside him and Rhys’ breath catches on a choked-off gasp. Rhys finds that he’s moving his hips minutely, trying to match Jack’s slow movements. Jack chuckles and when he slips a second finger in Rhys doesn’t have any more air left to make a sound.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Jack murmurs. “You’re going to love this.”

Rhys’ inhale is shaky, but when he follows the encouragement of Jack’s hands and rocks himself up and back down onto Jack’s fingers  _ oh _ , that is good, that is  _ better _ than good. Jack slowly works his fingers in and out of Rhys’ body and Rhys clings to him, hand fisted in Jack’s shirt and mouth open on a panting whine. Rhys’ cock is hard in his pants and he grinds his hips into Jack’s stomach and down onto Jack’s fingers, chasing that edge of brightness. When Jack  _ twists _ his fingers it catches up with Rhys all at once, and he sobs into Jack’s neck as he comes. Jack’s hands pet him through the aftershocks as he lies bonelessly against Jack’s chest.

He had had  _ no  _ idea it could be this good. Jack’s hand slides up Rhys’ back and Rhys breathes against Jack’s neck. If this was only Jack’s  _ fingers _ …

Jack shifts and Rhys suddenly realizes he can feel Jack half hard underneath him. He starts to sit up, unsure what to do but feeling like he should do  _ something _ . He’s only ever touched himself but he’s sure he can figure this out - or maybe he should wait for Jack to take what he wants. Jack pulls Rhys close and breathes deeply against his temple and Rhys holds his breath because  _ this must be it  _ \- Rhys’ heat isn’t here yet but it’s close, surely it’s close enough. Surely Jack must know that he can have anything he wants from Rhys.

He does know that, doesn’t he?

Rhys isn’t so sure, suddenly; instead of moving to undo his belt Jack gathers up Rhys in his arms and stands, carrying him out of the study and back down the hall towards Rhys’ room, which has never seemed so dark and empty as when Jack settles Rhys back into his bed and turns to  _ leave _ .

Rhys catches Jack’s sleeve before he can think too hard about what he’s doing, but his voice falters on the words and all he gets out is, “ _ Please. _ ”

Jack half-turns, and backlit by the hall lights as he is Rhys can’t make out his face at all. 

“Please what?” Jack’s voice is mild; mild enough that Rhys knows Jack is feeling something else, something he doesn’t want to share. Rhys doesn’t dare guess at what it is. He swallows, but he’s come this far - he can’t bear the thought of losing Jack’s regard, of being  _ rejected _ , but he also can’t bear to let this slip past him.

Jack had told him to find a strong alpha. There’s no one Rhys knows who’s stronger than Jack.

“Please - pleasebemyalpha. For my heat.” Rhys rushes the words a little, as if getting it out faster will make it easier. His head is clearer now, that feverish heat receding a bit, and he’s never been more sure about anything in his life - that he wants this. That he wants _Jack_. There was never anyone but Jack, not really, and if - if Jack says _no -_

Rhys will go through his heat alone, if he has to, because right now it makes his skin crawl to think of any hands on him but Jack’s.

Jack turns to face him more fully, curling a hand around the back of Rhys’ neck. Rhys jumps as Jack’s thumb hits a particularly sensitive spot, and he can’t be sure but that might be a glint of teeth he sees as Jack leans in.

“Sure, kiddo.” He brushes dry lips over Rhys’ forehead and Rhys closes his eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

It  _ is _ , more than Rhys knows how to say, the rising flood of giddy relief closing his throat. He almost wants his heat to be here  _ now _ \- he’ll brave any amount of uncertainty or unknowns if Jack is waiting for him on the other side. He’s tempted to ask Jack to stay tonight; if Jack is willing to be his alpha then maybe that isn’t too much to ask - and maybe he can get Jack’s hands on him again.

Jack pulls away before he can work up the nerve. “Get some sleep, pumpkin. I’ll see you in the morning.” Rhys clings to the promise in Jack’s voice, dark and rich with possibility. His pulse is jumping and his nerves are singing but there’s a soft exhaustion pulling at him, and while he doesn’t  _ want _ to sleep - his dreams have nothing on the real thing - maybe he’ll just lay down for a while. Rhys feels Jack’s hand heavy in his hair and then between one blink and the next Jack’s gone, bedroom door shut and light from the hall gone. Rhys shifts, pulling the covers around him more securely. He smells like sweat and slick and come, and he should probably go get cleaned up but he also smells like  _ Jack _ and suddenly that’s how he wants to fall asleep, with both of their scents intermingling in his lungs. His eyes won’t stay open anyway. He’ll clean up in the morning.

Soon - maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day, but  _ soon _ \- his heat will be here and he’ll have Jack all to himself, and it’s that last thought that curves his lips as Rhys drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
